


finding home (in flowers)

by nonbinarywithaknife (littleboxes)



Series: me sobbing about critical role [34]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort/Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, and also hated by the goblins, caleb and nott live in the woods its great, class switch, comments feed me, druid!nott, she does not have a good time with the goblins, spoiler: it aint great folks, the gals have a sleepover!, very vague descriptions of alchemy, we explore that through the lense of her being a mother, yep those tags are mostly for nott, you know when nott talks about eating a baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-12 13:45:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18012035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleboxes/pseuds/nonbinarywithaknife
Summary: Nott as a druid, and how that changes some things, and keeps some things exactly the same





	1. the beginning

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Druid's Nature](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17801912) by [TwinVax](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwinVax/pseuds/TwinVax). 



> yeehaw folks i am now super attached to nott as a druid. like a lot a lot. also yeza as a hippie who makes his own drugs and thanks plants is my new favorite yeza  
> ! I have this whole thing already written, I'll update it daily :) !

Veth has always loved nature, the outdoors. It was where she ran when her brothers’ teasing got to be too much, when her full house became stifling rather than cozy. 

She would run to the apple tree by the river, or hide herself in the wheat fields in the tillage, or sometimes- sometimes, she’d swim across the river and huddle within the forest. Not too deep in- she knew it was dangerous, that the goblins came from the woods, but sometimes things were bad enough that she’d think,  _ would anyone even care, if the goblins came for little, weird, awkward Veth _ ?

And then there was Yeza. A kiss. A courting, and then a wedding. And when she, blushing fiercely, told him about how much she loved the outside, about her hiding spots, he kissed her and said,  _ me too _ , and told her about all the wondrous uses for plants. She could see the same admiration and respect (and sometimes, longing) in his eyes that she knew were in hers.

So they went out together, gathering plants, venturing a shallow distance into the woods, picking through the fields. And when they brought back the plants- (after thanking them, of course. The first time Yeza had done it, it’d been an absent minded thing, and he’d blushed terribly afterwards, mumbling about it being something his alchemy master had taught him, how  _ important it is to thank the plants that provide you with a livelihood, Yeza _ . She’d hugged him tight and told him how  _ kind _ he was, and she started doing it too. Not just for the ingredients, either, but when the stares and the whispers were too much, and she laid under the oak tree, she’d whisper  _ thank you,  _ and she liked to imagine a whisper on the wind, replying  _ always _ ) -when they brought back the flowers and roots and buds and thorns and stems and leaves, he showed her how to make things- acids and bleaches and potions and all sorts of mixtures and tinctures. 

Alchemy was incredible. Whenever she sat hunched over the workbench, her focus narrowed to only the vials of liquid before her, and she could forget everything else, for hours. It was  _ lovely _ . Yeza would joke about how, soon enough, she’d become a better alchemist than he was. 

And then there was Luke. An unexpected, but no less loved gift. She often walked out to the apple tree while she was pregnant with him, and would tell him stories of her most treasured place. And when he was born, she and Yeza would take turns carrying him out with them to go gather ingredients, would show him every plant and flower they picked, and explain their uses, and their meanings, and they’d remind him to always thank the plants he took from, for being generous enough to provide for their livelihood. Luke’s cornflower blue eyes would shine and he would giggle madly everytime, and Yeza and Veth would look at each other and wonder how they’d been so  _ lucky _ .

And then the goblins came. Luke starved. They ran, she taunted them, they caught up to her and tied her up and showed her the true meaning of  _ pain _ .

When the goblins drowned her, her last thought was-  _ at least my boys made it _ .

And then she wakes up. 

For a full month, she is convinced she is in hell. That this is a punishment, for, for-  _ something _ . Because- because she  _ couldn’t _ be a goblin, because she would rather be dead than be forced from her family, but it eventually sinks in that this is her  _ life _ , now.

She thinks about killing herself. About taking a dagger and hiding in a dark corner of the camp (they aren’t hard to find, dark corners, especially here) and running herself through. 

It would be easy,  _ so _ easy (none of the goblins, would care, would try to save her. Just one less mouth to feed,  _ can’t even provide for herself, a waste of space, really _ ), and she comes very, very close one night. The night when, after she reluctantly downs the soup she’s given at mealtime, the goblins jeer and tell her where it came from- that, that they’d killed a mother and child on the road earlier, and how easy it was to cook them. How refreshing it was to eat fresh meat. When they tell her, cruel grins on their faces, about how they saved  _ the best bits for her, young ones are always tender _ , she vomits. 

The only reason she doesn’t run herself through right then and there is because she hears them say it was a human child. She’s still repulsed, still wants to down a vial of acid to clean the bloody taste from her mouth that seems to have imprinted into her tongue, but- if it had been a halfling, she- she couldn’t have handled it. Not the chance that- that- she’d-

It’s that night she realizes she can’t take anymore.

She waits for the right opportunity, when the sun is just beginning to come up and the guards on shift are exhausted and ready to switch out. She takes her meager belongings (some bread, a dagger she can barely use, some trinkets she’d hoarded) and packs them into a sack, and then she runs. They see her, but she knows this forest better than them, has spent time hiding among the trees and grass, (hiding when it became too much, the jeering, the knives pressed into her skin whenever she fucked up some task because she still wasn’t used to this body,  _ would never be used to the claws and the ears and the skin- _ because some things are still the same no matter what-) and she outruns them. She’s still a fast runner.

She spends weeks, wandering the forest, and she starts to feel like it’s calling to her. And one day, a wolf sneaks into her tiny camp, and she’s panicking,  _ what can a dagger do against that? What can  _ **_I_ ** _ do? _ And she pushes out her hands to do- she doesn’t know, anything, and- then there’s a roaring bonfire in front of her, and the beast is howling in pain. She runs, then, taking the advantage, even if her mind is spinning with panic and confusion. 

She has magic.  _ Magic _ . After she collapses a suitable distance from the wolf in a medium size tree, she stares at her hands in wonder. It came from the forest, she can tell. When she closes her eyes and concentrates, she can almost feel something like- like humming, all around her, it feels like a warmth that surrounds her. She spends months learning about her magic, harnessing it, as she moves across the wild parts of the Empire. It’s not worth it, no. She’d give up her magic in a second to be herself again. But- but feeling the energy of the earth around her, it’s- it’s a  _ balm _ , for those dark nights when she dreams about her time in the goblin camp, or when she sees the panic on Yeza’s face when he hears the horrible cackling of the goblins chasing them, or the gaunt, pale cheeks of her son as he cries out from fever. 

On one of her forays into a town- rare, but sometimes the urge to steal is so, so strong, and she can’t satisfy it with a handful of honey from a wasp’s nest, or a bluebird’s eggshell, so she sneaks into a town at night and takes things. Nothing big, nothing too noticable, but- enough to satisfy the crawling sensation that dogs her.

Except, this time she gets caught. She shouldn’t have gone for the wine, she’d  _ known _ it was risky, but it was the same kind that she and Yeza had had at their wedding and when she’d seen it the memories had flooded back, and she’d reached without thinking- and then her hood fell back, and a woman screamed, and the owner grabbed her arm and roughly dragged her to the jailhouse. 

They toss her in a cell and jeer at her-  _ to be executed in a week _ , they cackle, and she huddles in the corner. There is a pile of- rags? in the corner, and she is just beginning to drift when it moves. She freezes, ears twitching, and squints her eyes. It isn’t a pile of rags after all, instead it appears to be a human- a man, with light colored hair, though she can’t make out the color in such dim light. She is far from her forests, now, but she can still call on her magic, enough to break herself out, at least. And enough to defend herself from bigoted humans, as the need may be (not that she resents him for hating goblins of course, goblins are awful, horrible monsters, but she wants to live, at the moment). 

He speaks, and his voice is rusty, like he hasn’t used it in a while. “Ah- hallo? Can you, ah, understand me?”

Her yellow eyes glare in the dark, but she responds. He didn’t sound condescending, just curious. “Yes. What do you want?”

“You, ah, wouldn’t happen to be a thief, would you?” he asks, and she tilts her head. Perhaps she’d have help escaping. She can work with this.


	2. the middle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> she escapes from jail, adopts a wizard, and makes some friends (and flowers)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen i am starved for yasha and nott bonding content (so much potential!) so i made some myself

It’s night, and the prison is quiet.

The human man-  _ Caleb _ , he’d introduced himself as such earlier- snaps his fingers, and Frumpkin appears around his neck. She’d jumped, when he did that the first time, a few hours after she’d been unceremoniously dumped in his cell, and he’d chuckled, although it’d sounded more like a pained wheeze. “You said, earlier, you had a way to open the door?”

She nods and then focuses. She rests a clawed hand on the lock of their cell door, and thanks the gods this cell is old, and the bars are weak. Frost seeps out from her hand, into the delicate mechanism, and she hears a few quiet creaks. They can’t open it, not yet, so she looks to Caleb. “You said you had a plan for this, yes?” He nods, though the look on his face is more trepidatious than she’d like. He holds out a hand and whispers something, and the straw in their cell catches fire immediately. She bangs on the cell door and screams. “Help! Help! There’s a fire, help! Fire!” 

The smoke rising through their thin window helps her pleas, and soon enough, a bell starts ringing. They have to leave the cell lest they get burned, but there are no guards in sight. Just like Caleb had said, no one cared enough about a goblin thief and a filthy, half-dead vagrant to risk burning for them. She starts to head out, but realizes Caleb isn’t with her. She turns around, to see he’s staring at the fire, transfixed, and that just won’t do because he’s got Frumpkin, and Frumpkin knows where their stuff is. 

She pokes him with a claw, and when that fails, grabs a handful of his coat and  _ yanks _ . He startles badly, but seems to come back to himself. “Time to go!” she cries and they run, with Frumpkin leading the way, to a small, out of the way room. Caleb heads over and pulls some stuff out of one box, while Nott grabs her pouch of components and her sack of supplies. Then they sprint until they’re out of the prison, out of the town, and into the woods. 

Nott breathes a sigh of relief at the comforting buzz under her skin that comes from being so close to nature. 

She can feel Caleb’s eyes on her, and she knows it’s because of the ease with which she leads him through the woods. Even for a goblin, it’s unnatural, but she  _ knows _ this terrain, and it’s easy enough to guide a stick-thin wizard through it. They travel until she spots a tree that is sturdy enough to hold them and tall enough to keep them safe. It takes a while, but she finds one. 

When she stops and points out her plan, Caleb frowns in a way that makes her think of- of Luke, but agrees when she points out all of the predators that would be more than grateful to find him lying on the forest floor, defenseless. 

As they settle onto their respective branches, Nott concentrates, before healing Caleb. He looks up in surprise as the magic washes over him. It’s not much, and she won’t be able to cast anything else today, but frankly, Caleb looks like a fright (and- his pale, gaunt face, and light hair, and blue eyes remind her of- of- Luke, and she can’t stand the pain so evident in his movements)

“You are a magic user as well, then?”

Nott blushes dark green, though she doubts Caleb can see it. “Oh, uhm, yes. But, ah, I don’t think my magic is the same as yours.”

He nods. “Yes, I am a wizard, and if I was to hazard a guess, you are... a druid? You gain your magic from the earth, nature, yes?”

Nott blinks. She hadn’t known there was a word for it.  _ Druid _ . The word tastes odd on her tongue. Too smooth, graceful,  _ pretty _ , for the mouth of a goblin, but- it feels  _ right _ , too. “Y-yeah.  _ Yes _ , I am a druid,” she says, and they settle in for a sleep.

She means to leave after a few days pass, and they’re sure no one’s following them, but- but Caleb looks so  _ small _ , and  _ thin _ , and it’s  _ clear _ it’s been a long time since he’s eaten well, and- and maybe she’s a little lonely. A  _ little _ . She’s not sure why he stays, but he does. And so a month passes, and then another, and then three more, and then it’s been almost a year and he’s her _ boy _ , now.

They stay in the forests, mostly. Nott  _ knows _ the woods, can create campfires for them, and purify water, and mend their clothes, and Frumpkin is good at hunting small animals- so they really have no reason to leave. Plus, Nott’s used to eating rats and such, and Caleb doesn’t complain. They really only venture into town when they desperately need new clothes, Nott gets the itch, or to get Caleb books. Nott- she’s no professional thief, but between her, Caleb, and Frumpkin, well. They make do. They’re not rich by any metric, but they have coin. 

They enter the newest town- Trostenwald, Caleb tells her, she has no idea how he knows this considering they’ve been sleeping in trees for the past month or so, but he’s always right- because caleb’s boots are being held together with cat spit and tree sap at this point, and Nott’s cloak is getting rather threadbare. It has maybe one more mending spell in it before it just falls apart completely. 

Luckily, they have enough coin for an inn room. It’s shit, that’s clear once they enter it, clearly made for one person and filled with the bare minimum, but the (comparatively) soft bed is a refreshing change, and there is a bathroom available, so neither of them complain. 

It’s the next day, when they’re sitting at the bar, Nott nursing an ale for the first time in awhile (she misses things like that, sometimes. The goblins certainly didn’t give her any ale, when they managed to get their claws on any, and living in the woods didn’t lend itself to fermentation easily, but she remembers the little luxuries she took for granted, before-) when a blue tiefling woman walks up to their table and comments on Caleb’s smell.

Nott’s more than ready to throw down, but the woman- Jester, as she introduces herself- doesn’t appear to mean it seriously. In fact, Nott can see a human and a half-orc staring at their table, the latter with a palm over his face at the tiefling’s antics. 

As Jester sits down, Nott eyes her warily. She’s been talking non-stop since she walked over, clearly not bothered that her conversation is a rather one sided one. Eventually, Jester (and the rest of the tavern’s) attention is drawn to the shadow cast by the figure in the door of the door- a bright purple tiefling of indeterminate gender in a gaudy maroon coat, who has all sorts of chains and charms hanging from their horns and two swords on their hips. Behind them, there’s a woman easily three times Nott’s height. Her hair is mostly black, all done up in braids and beads and ropes, and her skin is unnaturally pale, and she has a greatsword on her back. She follows the tiefling as (he?) saunters around the bar, passing out what look like flyers to the customers. He catches Nott studying him and smirks, and then walks over, the lumbering woman like an enormous shadow behind him. 

“Well, hello! My name’s Mollymauk Tealeaf, Molly to my friends, and I’m with the Fletching and Moondrop Traveling Carnival of Curiosities, and let me tell you, I’ve never seen a group of people so in need of a good time!” he says, dropping into the chair beside Jester. 

Speaking  of, she’s positively delighted with the carnivalier, and reaches for a flier. “Ooohh, you’re with a carnival? How much is it?” and thankfully he is drawn into conversation with Jester. 

Nott tugs on caleb’s sleeve, and he takes the hint. They slip away from the table, and up to their room, but Nott can’t stop thinking about the carnival. It  _ did _ look quite fun, and if she went, nobody would probably look twice at her. It could be- nice. And she and Caleb can afford it, she knows, even with the cost of new boots and cloak, thanks to the dearth of books in the last few towns. 

Caleb senses her distraction, and tilts his head. “Nott? What is on your mind?”

“Well… you know, we have enough coin to go to the carnival. And we’re not doing anything else anytime soon, and you already said this town didn’t have much in the way of reading material, so- would you like to go?”

Caleb smiles. “Of course, if you would like to, I have no problem.”

So Nott and Caleb go to the carnival, and it’s fun, until they have to fight a zombie man, and the weirdos from the tavern are there too, fighting with them, but then the Crownsguard are called in, and they’re brought in- thankfully it all resolves itself, and she and Caleb join the group of weirdos, and end up on the road to Zadash (Zadash! Of all places! Not tree in the place, Nott’s sure, and she’s not very pleased, but she’ll go with the group. For now).

She warms up to Jester pretty quickly, and Jester asks a lot of questions about her magic (she seems disappointed when she learns it’s from the earth and not whoever “The Traveler” is, but the disappointment doesn’t last long, and she continues with the questions). Eventually, they camp, and Nott sets the campfire easily out of habit, and shrinks a little when the group stares at her. “Well, that’s handy,” comments Fjord, the half-orc, and the tenions is broken.

They’re a week out from Zadash when Nott learns that Yasha likes flowers. And, really, what’s the harm in getting on the giant lady with a sword’s good side?

So, one evening, she falls back to Yasha’s side, while Molly talks with Jester. Yasha turns her head down to face her, and  _ wow _ those eyes are very intense. Nott clears her throat awkwardly. “I- uhm- uh, _mollysaidyoulikeflowers_?”

Yasha blinks, deciphering Nott’s gibberish, then nods. In her strange accent, says, “Yes, I- do. Yes.”

Nott’s slightly (not a lot, but slightly) less intimidated when Yasha stammers just like she had. “Well, uh, are there any in particular that are your favorite?” Nott asks, because she has plenty of experience with flowers, and plants of all kinds, really. 

Yasha’s confusion is beginning to show on her face, now, and Nott really wishes she’s hurry up and answer because she does  _ not _ want to have to deal with Molly right now. “I- no? Er, red ones, I suppose.”

Nott nods to herself, thankful for something else to focus on rather than her own ineptitude at talking to people. “Red, red, I can do red…” she mumbles, thinking, and then crafts a small, red poppy. She holds it out awkwardly to Yasha. “Here?”

Yasha looks- surprisingly touched, actually. Huh. Nott wasn’t expecting Molly to be telling the truth, if she’s honest. Nott clears her throat again. “Um- it’s. It is an actual flower, not like, made out of magic or anything, so you’ll have to, er, put it in a vase? Or something? But- uh, yeah,” and then she flees back to the front of the group, maneuvering so she’s next to Caleb. 

She watches, though, as Yasha takes out a book, and delicately lays the poppy on one of the pages. Nott can’t help but stare at the small, sad smile on her face. Huh. Maybe- maybe she should do that more often. It’s not like it’s  _ hard _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yasha is my wife and nott is also my wife and i love them both so much


	3. the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is almost more of an epilogue than an ending, but eh.

Nott steals a sheet of paper from Caleb (a normal one, of course, not spell paper, she isn’t  _ stupid _ ) and writes down the name of every red flower she can think of, and then goes to Caleb for even more. She recognizes most of the ones he lists, though a few are native to his home, and she has him describe them for her, making sketches next to their names on her list.

And then, she starts crafting flowers. She makes one every day, and hides it in Yasha’s pack. And she keeps an eye out, for when Yasha finds them. It’s- nice, seeing the tall woman happy (even if it is tinged with a sadness Nott can’t quite decipher) and Nott starts to realize that maybe she’s attached to this group of weirdos. 

Once she runs out of red flowers, she moves onto orange, and then continues across the color wheel. Jester sees her crafting a flower one day, and asks for one, after gushing about how cool the skill is. So Nott makes a pink peace lily, to match jester’s dress, and she ties it into her hair. And of course, that brings up memories, of her own _Veth’s_ mother tying flowers into her hair, _for luck,_ she’d say, with a smile.

And after the manticore, after they camp down, she pads over to Caleb’s bedroll, and pokes him. “Do you mind if I braid your hair?” she asks, and Caleb looks at her, slightly bewildered by the request, but not stopping her as she reaches for his head. It takes a few tries, as she’s not used to doing this with claws, but she braids in the cornflowers she’d crafted, tying the braids off with leather strips from her pockets. “There! For luck,” she says and kisses him on the nose. The bewilderment returns, and she chuckles as he exchanges a look with  _ Frumpkin _ , of all beings. 

* * *

 

They’re in an inn, and Nott, Yasha, Jester, and Beau are all sharing a room. The inn had only two rooms free, and Jester had insisted on them having a “girls only” sleepover. It was… actually rather nice.

Jester turns to Nott. “Nott! You should totally braid all of our hair! I see you do it with Caleb all the time, and you could put flowers in and everything!”

No one objects, so Nott pulls out a roll of string from her bag, and gestures Jester forward. “No, no! Beau should totally go first!” 

Beau grumbles a little, but Nott can tell it’s half hearted at best. The monk scoots in front of her, and Nott pulls her hair out of its customary bun. It’s longer than she’s expecting, but that just gives her an idea. She focuses, and a length of blue heather appears in her hand. It’s just the same shade of blue as Beau’s vestments, and Nott gets to work. It takes about ten minutes to get the braid just right, and Jester is telling them stories about growing up in Nicodranas, when Nott finishes. “There! You’re done, Beau.”

Beau gets up and heads over to the dingy mirror hanging on the wall. Her eyes widen when she sees Nott’s handiwork. “Fuck. That’s-  _ shit _ , nott this is fucking great!” 

The heather is braided as far up as Nott could go, and then threaded through one thick braid that hangs down Beau’s back. 

The monk in question turns back to look at her. “Thanks dude,” she says, uncharacteristically soft for a second, and then goes back to her usual gruff self. “Hey, Jester, your turn!”

As Nott leans back against the bed, she stares down at her hands. They’re green, rough, almost-but-not-quite-scaly, and her fingers are thin and bony. Not like they’re supposed to be at all, but- but maybe they aren’t all bad, if they can conjure flowers and bring her friends ( family ) joy.

**Author's Note:**

> all the stuff nott does is based on real druid cantrips/1st level spells, though i bent them a little for story's sake.  
> the cantrips are create bonfire/druidcraft/frostbite, and the spell is healing word  
> also, yeah, nott teaches caleb all about which fruits not to eat, how to spot wolf tracks, etc. it's very cute.


End file.
